Out of Mind
by CarnelianKiss
Summary: Kiri was just a civilian, just an average young woman attempting to find herself in the complex, dangerous world they lived in. Kakashi is a famous, high-ranked shinobi known throughout all of Konoha - and then some. There couldn't possibly be any link between the two... right? KakashiOC


**Chapter 1**

I recognized him the moment he walked through the door, the tiny bell tied to the door-top chiming in a way that was both attention grabbing and anti-climatic. You don't grow up in a shinobi dominated environment like Konoha, and _not _know about the local killers in your village.

The dark green vest, baggy pants and shinobi-regulated sandals only proved him to be a standard ninja of apparent skill. There were more personal aspects of his physical character that gave me the obvious hints to know who he was, exactly.

Like the thick silver hair that defied the laws of gravity so adamantly, or the mysterious half-mask and hitai-ate combo that hid most of his face from the public eye. Only a single dark iris was revealed. It blinked lazily at the bartender as he settled on a barstool and requested a cup of sake.

I watched behind the rim of my glass as a few of the other shinobi's in the small restaurant, a handful of chunin and a another jounin who'd come to grab a drink before/after their missions gave the prodigy short, respectful nods in greeting.

Without warning, he looked straight into my observing eyes, turning as he reached for a book in the back pocket of his pants.

My eyes widened and my hand jerked, my water glass slipping on my lips. I gasped as my light pink shirt became a darker shade as water drenched the thin material. Thank god I had thought to put on a camisole underneath the slightly see-through fabric, or this would have been a lot more humiliating.

"Kimoto-san?" My date immediately pushed a few napkins into my hand, giving me what I presumed to be a concerned expression. I watched him glance around at the corner of his eyes to the other people that sat in the dinning section of the restaurant. Embarrassed, most likely. Over me.

Again.

I swallowed dryly. Oops.

"Thank you Izushi-san, sorry about that," I said softly, hopping I sounded convincingly calm, attempting to pat my chest dry without looking too awkward. I probably failed. I aimed a self-deprecating grin at the man, placing the wad of damp napkins on the edge of the table. "Accidents happen. Unfortunately."

"As long as you're fine," he replied kindly. He treated me to a small, close-eyed smile of his own. It seemed to say, _'It's okay if you make a mess of yourself like a child, but if you could refrain from such activities in public I'd be very grateful.'_ I bit my lower lip as a chided heat burned down my back.

I could see through the embarrassment-from-association that lingered as his gaze flicked around us once more. I gave another heavy, internal sigh. The third of the night.

I gave a discreet glance to the wall-clock near the cash register, slowly returning to the pale-blond man sitting across from me. He was picking at his chicken omurice without much enthusiasm, holding the silver chopsticks awkwardly in his palm.

I stared down at my barely touched miso salad with an equally lacking expression.

My date's name was Yamanaka Izushi. He was the younger brother of Inoichi, a member of the infamous 'Konoha Intelligence Division'. Izushi-san wasn't a shinobi like his brother, to my mother's greatest and most vocal joy—but a civilian. He was the one who raised the seedlings, cultivating them with the needed care to be sold in the families popular flower shop.

A quiet man. A man that valued propriety over frivolity and held little interest in hobbies or other such useless activities.

He was also thirteen years my senior.

I didn't have a problem with dating an older guy, not at all, but being only twenty years old myself there was little the both of us could find that we had in common.

My mother had always said I was mature for a girl my age but even then, the gap between us only became more and more evident the more time we spent in each other's presence.

I had been introduced to Izushi-san through his brother's wife, Sayuri. She a was sweet and level-headed woman, the utter opposite of her twelve year old daughter I often grumbled—shh, don't tell her I said that, and after a few weeks into our quick and promising friendship she asked if I'd like to meet someone she knew who was interested in me.

Single for twenty years and admittedly lonely but none too eager to start looking myself, I decided to allow Sayu-chan to set me up with my first romantic relationship. Perhaps I'd been too quick to trust her so, despite her obvious interest in my well-being…

I had recognized the name she gave me, placing it with the stocky, seemingly shy man from the flower shop who always gave me discounts on my weekly purchases and mentioned to my mother of my not-so blind date that night at dinner.

She'd been ecstatic to my astonishment. Though the initial surprise had been short-lived when she explained herself.

"Just think of all the lovely bouquets you'll receive Kiri-chan!" she had crowed in delight, grasping my limp hands in hers and curling them in her own, holding them against her chest. She had swung us around the dining table, Tabi-chan, our new kitten mewing at us in interest.

I remembered my bemused reaction at my mother's seeming infatuation with the man she'd never even met. But that was my mother for you. A dreamer; in it's purest definition. Her best and worst quality she always said.

Izushi-san started to cough lightly after a bite of rice and I stared hard as he brought his own glass to his lips, half-praying the water would splash down his shirt so we'd both be wet and embarrassing.

Despite my mother's fantasies the man had not once brought me flowers.

—not like I was complaining. Oh no!

I wasn't the type of girl that needed material possessions to prove a guy's interest in me, though I also wasn't the type to discourage such behavior. Little things, every now and then were nice. Spontaneity. I liked that sort of thing, as cliche as it sounded.

Even though I had never before thought I would have expectations for someone I had never met… it still ended up happening. I cringed with guilt at the memory, twisting my fork into a particularly annoying piece of lettuce that refused to be speared by the utensil. The screech of metal on glass earned me a tentative glance from Izushi-san and I frowned back at him apologetically.

It was horribly awkward after the first five or so dates when I had waited for the man to pull a beautiful combination of his loveliest flowers from behind his back in a spontaneous portrayal of his interest in me—but it never came, and the guilty feathers of expectation soon fell, plucked clean from my mind as I was brought down to earth.

Some people just don't like mixing pleasure and business, I had assured myself, after the seventh meet-up when the man had showed up armed only in his usual causal clothing and a small, subdued smile.

Even if in this case… they'd go together rather appropriately.

I blamed my mother for my ridiculous conjecture.

Pipe smoke burned under my nose as a older gentleman lit up from the table directly text to us. I immediately sucked in a breath, holding it as my eyes instantly began to water. I clenched the table edge.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink, the salads lacking the right kind of kick," I excused myself abruptly, sounding strangely stuffed from my lack of breath and left Izushi-san to mouth soundlessly after my rapidly retreating form.

I pressed my chest against the high counter of the bar, folding my arms as the staggered air in my lungs whooshed out of my mouth nosily. I gave the bartender my drink order with a wink, half-smiling at his bewildered expression at my strange and sudden appearance.

My shirt was still damp and my shoulder-length hair had became a bit windswept as I all but ran to the bar in my desperation to avoid the tobacco smoke.

If he hadn't already noticed my presence in the other corner of the restaurant he probably thought I was some bar-hopping floozy. I snorted at the idea.

"Are you alright?" A low male voice asked me, sounding completely indifferent, as if he'd asked out of habit more than anything.

I blinked and turned to acknowledge the silver-haired shinobi sitting beside me.

"Hatake Kakashi," I exclaimed. My eyes widened dramatically.

My brain had supplied the name without prompt. Konohagakure's resident copy-cat nin.

Whoops, totally forgot the guy had even come showed up, despite my initial interest in his presence. And oh dear, that freaking _accident _that had occurred when he caught me staring at him. It still felt a bit surreal, that of all the places he had chosen to get at drink at the local bar and grill at the edge of Konoha. Didn't get that many_ '_important' people in this neck of the village, if you know what I mean.

He didn't show any further reaction at my knowledge of his name other than a brief glance in my direction and took a soundless sip from his cup.

I noticed the unfamiliar orange book he held managed to cover the lower part of his face just as he drank. Making it so that I, nor anyone else in the restaurant could see his face.

Interesting.

A amused smile slipped onto my lips and I hopped onto the neighboring bar stool, tapping my nails lightly as I waited for my drink.

The barkeep had completely disappeared, I noted, blinking at the empty space.

My attention was caught again as I heard a light rustling. I turned my gaze to watch a gloved hand slipped from a dark trouser pocket, Kakashi adjusting his weight on the barstool. He was moving himself so he was angled more towards me I realized with vague shock.

He addressed me again, and I listened warily. "It's polite to introduce yourself before referring to something so familiarly." His voice was light and lazy, like he didn't care what he was talking about, despite the wording. I found myself slightly confused yet… intrigued at the contrast.

I snorted unladylike for the second time that night, and leaned on my elbow, fixing him with a incredulous look. "Ah, because you're definitely known for your social skills, Hatake-san," I challenged him. I couldn't help myself. I really knew too much about the man. What can I say? He was pretty popular in both the shinobi and civilian circuits. And boy did people love to gossip around here.

His single eye caught the both of mine, for the first time _looking_ at me. My pulse quickened under my skin as we observed the other, eye to… well,_ eye_.

Yeah, this was weird.

"My name is Kiri, Kimoto Kiri," I introduced, quieter than before. It felt surreal talking to a shinobi like this, especially one as well known as Hatake. "Civilian." I added casually, then winced at my unneeded elaboration. Because he _obviously_ couldn't tell from my pale, untoned arms and utter lack of any sort of aura, that all the ninja's I'd ever met seemed to carry.

It was something I'd noticed quickly from living in a shinobi dominated village like Konoha. These were different people from your neighborhood pharmacist or dog-walker. Different in both the physical way and in matters of the mind.

They seemed to glow with it, that innate power.

Hatake Kakashi had it. Of course.

Though his aura, I noted, feeling awkward staring so directly into another man's eyes like this—was muted somehow. Hidden. Like he knew how dangerous he was, but decided to turn that into a 'could be', instead.

"I know," he smiled at me—or at least I was given the impression he had from the sudden crease of his mask where his lips would be. I honestly couldn't tell if he was referring to knowing my name or that I was a civilian. Which was odd. "A unique name you have there." The crease spread wider.

"Yeah, my father named me using the kanji for 'fog', totally cute right?" I rolled my eyes.

The jounin blinked at me, and continued to stare after I spoke, almost to the point that I grew self-conscious under the sole attention. He seemed vaguely amused at me now. It was in the slight raise of a single grey eyebrow.

He turned back to his sake with a light hum, the sound rich and low, and I found myself waiting on bated breath to see if he'd take a sip without the shield of his book. I didn't know why I was so curious to see his real face. It was a bit startling in its fervor.

"It suits you," Hatake told his cup. The corners of my mouth dropped like weights.

I felt a twitch develop above my left eyebrow. Smooth motherfucker wasn't he? Could you taste the sarcasm in my thoughts? Cause I could.

He glanced back at me with that one eye, narrowed leisurely. "Not in a bad way." he offered, as if sensing my apparent annoyance. Huh? Had I made it obvious or something?

"No. Of course not." I sighed. I drummed my fingers louder on the tabletop, growing impatient. I didn't want him to make the same conclusions everyone else did whenever I told them my name. Fog, as in foggy, as in light-minded, as in _stupid_. I found myself speaking without much thought.

"To be fair my mother said it was because I had inherited father's permanent glassy-eyed stare. He was so proud that I got his eyes since I look nothing like him, other than that." I glanced up to see if he was even listening to my ramblings.

He was.

I continued with a stuttered swallow.

"Apparently he demanded a blood-test from my mother after I'd just been born, before I was even able to open my eyes." My gaze traced the smoothness of his jaw, cut slick and clean with the blackness of the fabric mask. "He shut up quick after thirty minutes or so, when I had gathered enough strength to do so. Okaa-san never let him forget it though." I surprised myself with an abrupt laugh, the sound bright and unforced as the memory played itself in my mind.

"What does your father do?" he asked me suddenly. There was a genuine underlying interest in his question that shocked me into a moment of silence.

"He was a shinobi like you, a really good one." I answered after a brief pause. At least that's what the rest of his squad and my mother had always told me. An image of a wiry, dark-haired man, with cracked knuckles and a dazed expression popped into my mind, inked in fondness. "He went missing when I was eight years old." I continued softly, playing with the jounin's abandoned coaster. The thin circle of damp cardboard was decorated with a single ring of condensation that bled through to the back, where in angled, black katagana the restaurants name was printed.

The bartender placed a tall glass of sparkling red liquid in front of me, breaking my musings. He gave a apologetic excuse that they'd run out of the maraschino cherries and he had to go dig through the cases of alcohol for the most recent order.

I smiled in appreciation at his commitment to serve the drinks as advertised and told him not to worry about it. A secret, pleased warmth gathered in my chest at the sight of the almost synthetic tasting fruit, which was honestly my favorite part of the drink itself.

"Is that a _Shizumi Tento_?" Hatake gave me a somewhat incredulous look, though I was only guessing from the eyebrow that raised itself at the reddish-pink drink in my hand.

I took a long sip of the simple mix of lemon soda and cherry syrup, and gave the man a hesitant, coquettish smile, the bright red cherry caught between my teeth. "I like sweet things—bitter tasting drinks aren't really my cup of tea… or sake." I nodded to his cup of the strong, clear liquid and hopped off my barstool. I turned around without a second word and walked back to my previous table.

It was ridiculous. I'd only made small talk with the masked man for a matter of minutes, myself doing most of the talking actually... but I couldn't stop smiling.

"Make sure you chew and swallow," Izushi-san greeted me sullenly as I sat back down in my seat. Both our plates were gone and he was penning his signature on a piece of paper I assumed to be the bill. With a jolt of sudden guilt I wondered if he'd been watching me talk to the silver-haired shinobi at the bar.

"And if you didn't leave me so abruptly while we are on a date, I'd appreciate it, Kimoto-san," he added.

I ignored the pretentious, familiar words with a dull nod, still sipping on the straw of my drink. I never really understood why he continued to call me by my surname, especially after insisting I call him Izushi. When I glanced over at the bar area I felt a strange falling feeling in my chest as the counter was now barren of any customer.

Hatake Kakashi had exited the building.

I hadn't even heard the bell on the door, I realized with a incredulous spark of excitement.

— — —

a/n: yeah so Shizumi Tento is my interruption of the Naruto world's _Shirley Temple_, which is a non-alcoholic drink btw lol, did anyone get that reference? Hope you like Kiri-chan so far, I already do. The fic title is inspired by Tove Lo's 'Out Of Mind'.

No idea where this came from, but inspiration struck and it was written, hope you enjoyed~


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